The Map of Time (Trilogía Victoriana #1)(92)
“A machine that makes holes in the fabric of time,” she finally murmured, intrigued by the idea. “And you went through one of those tunnels and came out today?” “Yes, that’s right,” replied Tom, halfheartedly.
“And how will you get back to the future?” “Through the same hole.” “Are you telling me that at this very moment somewhere in London there’s a tunnel leading to the year 2000?” Tom took a sip of tea before replying. He was beginning to tire of this conversation.
“Opening it in the city would have been too obvious, as I’m sure you understand,” he said cautiously. “The tunnel always opens outside London, at Harrow-on-the-Hill, a tiny knoll with an old oak surrounded by headstones. But the machine can’t keep it open for very long. It will close in a few hours” time, and I have to go back through it before that happens.” With these words, he looked at her solemnly, hoping she would stop plying him with questions if she knew they had so little time together.
“You may think me reckless for asking, Captain,” he heard her say after a few moments” reflection, “but would you take me back with you to the year 2000?” “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Miss Haggerty,” Tom sighed.
“Why not? I promise I—” “Because I can’t go ferrying people back and forth through time.” “But what’s the point of inventing a time machine if you don’t use it for—” “Because it was invented for a specific purpose!” Tom cut across her, exasperated by her stubbornness. Was she really that interested in time travel? He instantly regretted his abruptness, but the harm was done.
She looked at him, shocked by his irate tone.
“And what purpose might that be, if you don’t mind me asking?” she retorted, echoing his angry voice.
Tom sighed. He sat back in his seat and watched the girl struggling to suppress her mounting irritation. There was no point in carrying on with this. The way the conversation was headed, he would never be able to coax her over to the boardinghouse. In fact, he would be lucky if she did not walk out on him there and then, tired of his filibustering. What had he expected? He was no Gilliam Murray. He was a miserable wretch with no imagination. He was out of his depth in the role of time traveler. He might as well give up, forget the whole thing, take his leave of the girl graciously while he still could and go back to his life as a nobody: unless of course Murray’s thugs had other ideas.
“Miss Haggerty,” he began, resolved to end the meeting politely on some pretext, but just then she placed her hand on his.
Taken aback by her gesture, Tom forgot what he had been going to say. He gazed at her slender hand resting gently on his among the cups and saucers, like a sculpture the meaning of which he was unable to fathom. When he raised his eyes, he found her gazing back at him with infinite sweetness.
“Forgive my awkward questions, which no doubt you are not allowed to answer,” the girl apologized, leaning delightfully towards him across the table. “It was a very rude way of thanking you for bringing back my parasol. In any case, you needn’t tell me what the machine is for, as I already know.” “You do?” said Tom, flabbergasted.
“Yes,” she assured him with an enchantingly conceited grin.
“And are you going to tell me?” Claire looked first to one side then to the other, before replying in hushed tones: “It’s for assassinating Mr. Ferguson.” Tom raised his eyebrows. Mr. Ferguson? Who the devil was Mr. Ferguson, and why did he have to be assassinated? “Don’t try to pretend, Captain,” Claire chuckled. “There really is no need. Not with me.” Tom began laughing heartily with her, letting out a few loud guffaws to release the tension accumulated during her interrogation. He had no idea who Mr. Ferguson was, but he sensed that his best bet was to pretend he knew everything about the man down to his shoe size and the type of shaving lotion he used, and pray she would not ask anything about him.
“I can’t hide anything from you, Miss Haggerty,” he cajoled, “you’re far too intelligent.” Claire’s face glowed with pleasure.
“Thank you, Captain. But it really wasn’t that difficult to guess that your scientists invented the machine in order to travel back to this point in time in order to assassinate the inventor of the automatons before he could create them, thus preventing the destruction of London and the death of so many people.” Was it really possible to travel back in time in order to change events? Tom wondered.
“You’re quite right, Claire. I was sent to kill Ferguson and save the world from destruction.” The girl thought for a few moments before adding: “Only you didn’t succeed, because we witnessed the war of the future with our own eyes.” “Right again, Claire,” Tom acknowledged.
“Your mission was a failure,” she whispered with a hint of dismay. Then she fixed her eyes on him and murmured: “But why? Because the tunnels don’t stay open long enough?” Tom spread his arms, pretending he was bowled over by the girl’s astuteness.
“That’s right,” he confessed, and with a sudden flash of inspiration, he added: “I made several exploratory journeys in order to try to find Ferguson, but I failed. There wasn’t enough time. That’s why you might bump into me again in the future, only if you do, you mustn’t come up to me because I won’t know you yet.” She blinked, trying to grasp his meaning.